


Hands of Blue

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Series: 2x2 [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Asexual Character, Bad Sex, F/M, First Kiss, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1234621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Rox, is this one of those what if we had kids scenarios?”</p><p>“No, this is one of those my best friend and I are in our underwear and it seems a shame to waste a perfectly good opportunity thingies.”</p><p>--</p><p>Backstory for To by Too/I Was Aiming for His Head. "Chose not to use archive warnings" because Roxy and Dirk are 15.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands of Blue

It’s the doldrums of summer. You’re sticky and lazy and fifteen years old and even the box fan in the window isn’t enough to keep your babyfine blonde curls from sticking to the back of your neck. On this Earth, this new post-Crisis Earth, Houston isn’t underwater, but goddamn if it doesn’t feel like a sea Hitler apocalypse right now with this heat wave. How your best friend can stand it is beyond you.

Of course, both of you are stripped to your skivvies. Not much point in keeping clothes on when they were just going to get sweaty. Dirk’s working on a new creation and so are you, but the difference is that yours is still in concept and he’s taking his prototype apart with an eyeglasses screwdriver. The poor thing’s heat sink is completely fried. Not unlike your own, you guess, because you feel completely useless trying to design something better than anything that’s ever been before.

Your graph paper is damp. That’s how hot it is. You already had to switch to pen to keep your graphite from smearing everywhere, but now there’s India ink all along the side of your hand. Your belly is sticking to the sheets. “Hey, D-stride,” you say lazily.

“I don’t think they’ll let us in like this,” he says.

You grin, so hard it hurts. Of course he’d anticipate what you were going to say. And of course the public pool isn’t going to let y’all go swimming in your lingerie. “We could always go to the beach.”

“And be out in the sun?” Dirk has a point. You’re both so fair you’ll turn red the second you step outside. As it is, you already have all the shades drawn, trying to keep out as much heat as possible, to the point that both of you are practically working in the dark.

You yawn. The heat makes you sleepy. “I’m about to stuff myself in the fridge.”

Dirk barely stifles down a chortle. “Must not make women in refrigerators joke,” he says in a monotone.

You whack him with your graph pad. He just laughs harder. It’s so easy just to be around him. He’s not… tense, like he is around other people. No appearances to keep up. Just two kids from Future Earth trying to make it in a past that was made for them. “Dirk,” you say, and you’re surprised at how soft your voice is.

He pulls his shades down his nose. Lil Hal isn’t in them any more, eradicated when the game consolidated everyone’s identities, but you know Dirk keeps a virtual intelligence in there like his own personal JARVIS to help with his engineering work. The red of illuminated diagrams surrounding a 3D rendered screw plays across the inside lenses, making his eyes less tawny and more fire. “Yeah?”

“What if we had sex?”

Bless him, he’s actually quiet for a few minutes. Not exactly chewing his lower lip in thought like you’ve known him to do, but eventually you see him suck it into his mouth. “Rox, is this one of those _what if we had kids_ scenarios?”

“No, this is one of those _my best friend and I are in our underwear and it seems a shame to waste a perfectly good opportunity_ thingies.”

There goes the gnawing thing. You know how he thinks, so you know exactly what he’s thinking. Internally, he’s running what you call The Algorithm. Gears are churning, almost loud enough for you to hear them, and if you concentrate you swear you can smell the heat of metal on metal. With every if-then statement Dirk tries to process, his eyebrows come together a little more obviously.

“What’s tripping you up?” you tease him. “The mechanics?”

“Definitely not. I mean, I have a male connector and you have a female one.”

Trying to dodge and put this into engineering parlance? You can meet his jargon tit for tat. “If we’re both threaded, we can definitely screw.”

“No, I know that, it’s just.” You know all the variables he’s plugging in—you’re just wondering if he’ll say them out loud. His hand comes up to his shoulder, starts idly scratching at his tattoo.

Won’t say it, then. “Are you waiting for someone else to void your warranty?”

“No!” he says too quickly, that no that means yes.

“Y’know, I hear you can get extensions on those things. Even refurbished ones are completely indistinguishable from mint-condition,” you mention idly, rolling on your back and flapping your hand over your face to get some air moving in this room.

He just looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Is your warranty voided yet?”

“Oh, honey.” You have to laugh at that. “I voided my own warranty a loooooooooong time ago.”

You can still hear him chewing his lip, he’s thinking that hard. “Here’s the thing,” he says eventually. “The thing is. We have the equipment, yeah? But the inclination…”

Is that seriously the only thing tripping him up? “I’m inclined, but if you’re not down for doing a little science, that’s fine.”

“This is just an experiment?” You nod. Dirk is going to bite through his lip at this rate. Finally, he sighs. “Sure. Why the hell not.”

“Awesome.” That was the easy part, helping him through his mental gymnastics of ‘I’m gay how penis go in vagina.’ The hard part is going to be… well, actually doing it. “I think you have to kiss me first,” you suggest, winking at him.

“Trust me,” he says, setting aside his project, “I’m gonna take you to Swoontown.”

“Ooh, Prince Charming, ooh,” you jibe, rolling your eyes. Still, he does actually make good on his word, kissing you. It’s kind of… well. There’s pressure of mouth on mouth, and his bottom lip is slick and swollen from his own biting, and it’s nice, all things considered. His palm is sweaty and searing hot when it glances down your bare side, but that’s the closest he’s come to touching you. “I think we need to be a little closer.”

“Yeah.” And yet he doesn’t get any closer. “So. Um. How was that?”

“I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby.” Maybe he needs you to take the lead? You know how to do this. (No, you don’t.) Acting on instinct, you cup his face with your hand, gently tracing his cheekbones as you lay a featherlight kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Get up here,” you breathe against his mouth.

“Yes, ma’am,” he groans, like it’s arduous for him to follow that little order or something. The mattress dips when he puts a knee on it, and he puts a hand out to steady himself and of course. Of course it would land right on one of your tatas. “Sorry?” he tries.

“DiStri, that’s the point,” you chide him. “Now shh. Shh and let me kiss you.” You’ve done this part a little bit, at least, and when he opens his mouth he breathes out into yours and it doesn’t taste bad or anything, in fact it’s kinda hot, and then.

Then his tongue touches yours and you melt. You’re actually melting into the mattress, overheating into nothing but a pile of girl-Jello. “Fast learner,” he whispers before taking your lower lip between his teeth and fucking hell if you had known Dirk Strider was such a good kisser you would have suggested some sloppy friend makeouts long before this.

And he’s still not touching you. Just kind of… propping himself over you, legs tangled with yours but keeping his bare chest well away from your bra. “Oh my god,” you groan, realizing what the problem is. “Just feel me up like a drunken frat boy already!”

“Okay. Feeling-up in progress.” Except it’s not. It’s really, really not. His hand skims up your stomach and it’s slick with two people’s sweat and maybe a little sensual because you’re not used to touch. At all, really. And neither is he. You were the last two people on earth and you giggle absurdly. “What’s so funny?”

“Ticklish,” you lie. Okay, that gets him to grab a heaping handful of titty and squeeze like he means it and very suddenly you’re not laughing any more. The thin cotton isn’t really keeping his thumbprint all that far from your nipple and then his finger slips. You suck in a breath. Oh. It’s like when you touch yourself, only not, because you can’t control whether he goes back to where he was or not and no one else is breathing in your face when it’s just you.

He does it again, not so accidentally this time, and you sigh out what you’d been holding in. He really is a fast learner, because he does it again, just barely moves the cotton over the sensitive skin with the pad of his finger, and you can feel your nipple stiffening up when he squeezes at the same time. Your hands aren’t quite so broad as his and you never realized his body would be so searing hot against yours. “Better?”

“Much.” He kisses you again and every single time it gets better, learning as he goes. And then his mouth slips away from yours, plants a soft line of kisses down the line of your jaw, the column of your neck, and you’re gasping. That’s nice. That part is really nice. And then he licks, licks up your sweat, and the movement of his tongue persuades an actual sound out of your throat. “Oh, god…”

“Prince,” he sardonically corrects you. He stops groping you, follows the fabric of your bra behind your back, and he must have watched at least some straight porn to get that much right. “Uh. Rox?”

“It unhooks in the front.” No sense in waiting for him—you do it yourself. You should probably feel more self-conscious that your sweater puppies are swinging all free like that, but you’re only as naked as he is, so things are just on a more equal playing ground. He tries that same fondling technique with bare skin and it’s a little more electrifying this time. When he pinches, though, you frown. “It’s not a radio dial!”

“Sorry, I just thought—never mind.” Okay, that gives you an idea. It’s been him doing all the touching and you’ve just kind of been lying here like a dead fish, so why not actually do some science on him? If he just thought, he must have had a reason, and when you catch one of _his_ nipples between your fingertips and twist like he was doing to you, he makes a sound like he just got kicked. You think that’s a good reaction, anyway.

He ups the ante on you, hand slipping around to cradle the curve of your spine, follow it down into the small of your back, and whoa. Whoa that’s ticklish sexy sensitive whoa. “Whoa,” you breathe up at him stupidly. It’s good, if only in an anticipation sort of way. Dirk digs his nails in, scratches you there, and you actually make an undignified squeaking noise. Better than you thought it would be.

It’s even better, but maybe funnier, when he actually grabs your ass. He kisses you again, but this time he’s kind of… grinding into you? A little? Friction might be easier if both of you weren’t so goddamn sweaty, but that glide is nice, too. Your hips rock together, and that’s when you realize. Boner. Boner right up against your left hipbone and kind of poking into your belly. When you move up to kind of trap it there, Dirk winces a little. “Could you maybe not?”

“Okay, then what do you want me to do with it?”

“I don’t know!” he says, clearly exasperated. Silly boy, with a hard-on just from a little ass-grabbing. At least, you’re vaguely certain that he wasn’t this hard before. “I’m kinda ready to go over here.”

“Well, I’m not, okay?” Nowhere close. You get yourself off a lot, yeah, but it still takes some time. Some false starts before you really get your motor running, so to speak. “We’re not even naked.”

“I can fix that.” He’s not exactly Dirk Strider, Sex God, but he can be clever when he wants to be. To your surprise, though, he doesn’t go to strip you, just starts shoving his boxers down so he can kick them off.

Well. That’s a cock. An up close and personal actually attached to a real human being flesh and blood cock. Uncut, flushed this weird dark shade of pink, kinda heavy when you take it in hand, but you like the way Dirk sucks a breath between his teeth when you do that. “That certainly is a,” is the best thing you can think to say.

“Aren’t you—nnh. Rox, stop.” When you take your fingers away, it actually pulses, a drip oozing from the tip of it. “Panties. Off.”

Is he still not moving to do it himself? Whatever. You try to make the shimmy-out sexy, but when it ends in a damp tangle around your knees, not so much. So. Um. That’s happening now. You and your best friend are naked and his cock is rock-hard and you’re not even revved yet. “Could you, um. Maybe…?” No, screw it, you stick two fingers in your mouth and wet them yourself and start going south with them.

He stops them before you can reach your slit. “No, I’m gonna—do you have lube?” When you shake your head, he just makes an idle little tsking noise before he rears up, away from you. Okay, like this you can see every plane of muscle on his body reflected in the orange of the afternoon sun, and there’s a trickle of pure man-musk making its way down his chest, and he’s still hard as all fuck and his balls are—his balls are less silly-looking than you thought they’d be, actually kind of tight up against his body, that’ll be nice…

What is he even doing? You’re losing your concentration here. “What’re you looking for?”

“This.” Except ‘this’ is an industrial oil. “I use it for joint stuff, mostly, but it’s safe for organics, too.” Joint stuff like… robots. He’s going to lube you up with joint grease. Oh, this is unbelievable. “I promise. Completely safe.” Still, you stare up at him. “Don’t ask how I know that.”

“Condom-safe?” you quiz him.

“Duh,” he answers, maybe too quickly, as he smears some of it across his fingertips. “Just… don’t ask how I know that, either.” You don’t have to ask to know, though. You do your experiments, and Dirk does his, and usually neither the twain shall meet. Except for this time. He touches his fingertips to your lower lips and you actually squirm. It’s wet and slippery and kind of cool, temperature-wise, given that all of you and this entire room is sweltering. “Cold?”

“Not really.” His fingers rest against the outside of your slit, the crux between them finding your clit, and you nearly jump in your skin before you justify it as more than likely an accident. He’s just kinda… playing around down here. Diddling your little fleshy petals. This isn’t how you do it. This isn’t… what does it for you.

“I swear this is better than normal lube, okay, it doesn’t get tacky, it doesn’t get sticky, it just goes,” Dirk babbles, and oh, he only talks to himself when he’s nervous, is he nervous? His eyebrows are drawing together like he’s trying to concentrate, and that isn’t good.

“Dirk?” He won’t quite look at you. “DiStri.” Okay, that snaps him out of it. “Everything okay up there?”

“Peachy,” he says tersely.

And then it hits you why his fingers aren’t really going anywhere. “Here,” you offer, taking pity on him and covering his hand with your own. If he’s trying to get you as, well, ready as he is, he should probably start fingering you, right? You guide his fingertip towards the divot that signals your entrance, push just the tip of it in. (Please god let him know where to go from here.)

His finger is thicker and broader than your own. He keeps his nails trimmed, thankfully, but still, this is an angle you’re not used to. Dirk’s got his lower lip between his teeth again—concentrating, learning, feeling you out, thinking way too hard about this. You’re just getting used to the first when he wriggles the second one in alongside, a little too fast and a little too much but you’re a big girl, you can take it.

What comes out of your mouth is a whimper when he starts moving those fingers in you. You’re not even entirely sure how you feel about it; the only thing going through your head is ‘big.’ And when you reach out for another hand-measure of Dirk’s cock to compare, it’s only going to get bigger. “Fuck,” he sighs out when you try to get a good circumference reading. “Roxy—RoLal, please. Tell me you have a condom.”

Really ready, then. You’re stretched enough, you guess, or as good as it’s going to get, anyway. When you fumble through your sylladex, he snatches it out before you can, but then it’s an issue of his fingers are slippery and he can’t rip open the packet. You know you’re not supposed to, but you take it from him and rip it open with your clean hand and your teeth. “Hot, right,” you say to his flabbergasted look. With a saucy wink, you go to roll it on him, and at least he helps with this part. Everything’s technically right, at least, and for two virgins you might actually be okay at this.

Then he encourages your thighs apart. You suddenly feel very wet between your legs. He has one hand on his cock, rutting it against you, and oh god, not again, he’s having the same problem he did before. You cant up with your hips, add your hand to his, guide him true, and then that’s. That sure is a cock right up against your lady parts. His body seems to know what to do, even if he doesn’t, and he lets out a breath you didn’t think he was holding when he finally gets the head in.

Of course, you’re sucking that breath right back in between gritted teeth. Thick. A stretch, and you know your body’s built for this but it’s still. Heavy, and throbbing, and at first there isn’t enough lube so he has to drizzle more of it on himself as he pushes in, and even the lack of friction doesn’t help that something incredibly large is being shoved in you. You whimper with every inch he fights for, hoping it gets better once you get used to it. Maybe it’s because your own toys are smaller? Maybe it’s because he can get a different angle than you? Maybe it’s because you’re a clit gal?

Whatever the case, this isn’t exactly doing it for you. Yet. Maybe not for him, either, given that his hips seem to lose a lot of their tension when they’re finally solidly up against your ass. “Holy shit,” he whispers. You can’t tell what else is behind those words.

That scares you a little bit. “Good? Bad?”

“Tight,” he grits out, and that much you can agree on. This isn’t exactly you opening for him like a beautiful woman-petals flower or anything. At the same time, when he draws back, there’s this weird… schlicking sound? Almost? There’s a burnchafe at the very opening of your channel that even all this soppiness isn’t helping, like you were stretched too tight around him, but now that he’s drawing back you’re too loose and this is weird. Are you going to have granny cunt from this? And Dirk’s… not even that big. Not as big as those guys in those pornos, anyway. You totally don’t watch those, though. Nope. Not even for the noises with your eyes closed. Definitely not.

He moves in again, then out. A constant piston, slow and sure. It wouldn’t be too bad having someone else doing all the work, really. Like an actual sex machine. Except this one keeps breathing on you and there’s so much sweat and his skin feels like the surface of the sun against your body and he doesn’t seem to know quite what to do with his hands. Sometimes they’re on your knees, kind of holding your legs open, but then they’ll slip up your thighs to cup your ass. He really, really likes your ass. You pretend not to notice when the pad of his finger dips a little too far into the cleft, finds your other hole, especially when he pretends not to have touched it and doesn’t touch it again afterwards.

“Nngh,” Dirk moans out against your neck, and then he’s licking there, touching his tongue to your pulse, and his hands are circling around your waist. Why is there so much touching? Is this usually a thing that happens? Is it supposed to feel like you’re being suffocated by his weight? The actual sensations individually are all right, the ones downstairs and the ones right below your ear the best of all, but all of them together… aren’t right. Aren’t right at all.

Still, if you can just focus… it’s hard, though, when you get distracted by the tightburnstretch whenever he hits home, the all-too-human pulse that occasionally runs through his cock, the sharp smell of men’s musk layered over your own, the heat, the heat, the raw, aggravating heat, it’s far too hot in here and you can’t catch your breath, holding onto Dirk’s shoulders as he pistons into you. The only thing coming out of your throat is harsh pants cut through with whimpers, and it doesn’t exactly hurt but it isn’t really getting you anywhere, either.

And yet. And yet. This is Dirk. This is your best friend, and he’s doing this for you, and that. It’s not the physical sensation, it’s that it’s him, and it sparks something in your chest that you know for a fact isn’t just resonating godtier powers reaching out for you. You convince yourself that your whimpers are really sounds of pleasure, that your harsh breathing means you’ll climax, but you’re nowhere close, and it sucks. It really sucks. You want him to make you come at least once and it’s just not going to happen, it seems. Definitely not now. Most likely not ever.

He feels close, though. The pressurized pulse of him radiates through your core, and when he digs his teeth in a little too hard you press your shoulder into his mouth so he’ll leave a mark. “Fuck,” he groans desperately into your collarbone, breath fogging your cleavage and just barely teasing your nipples but it’s nowhere near enough. His hips stutter.

Is he waiting? “Don’t hold back,” you tell him urgently.

He thrusts in, deeper than he has before, and wow. You’ve never seen that before. Yeah, your cervix is going to be a little bruised, but you’ve never seen someone actually rear up like that when they orgasm, wow. His head is thrown back, his throat working in a silent howl. Five out of five shades. Such display. Very animal. Wow.

And you’re still pretty much at square one. Dirk never, not even once, touched your clit. Of all the possible places his hands could have gone during sex, not one of them was near the typical female erogenous zones, except for his you-know-what in your thingie. And his hands on your ass. Maybe he’s just an ass man? (Maybe you’re just lying to yourself.)

He pulls out. You wince. It’s actually sore. Like, radiating through your pubic bone sore. When you do it yourself, you know your own limits, never hurt yourself, but this… this kinda sucks. At least Dirk seems to be in the same boat. When he looks down at the condom, his brows quirk. Oh my god he doesn’t know what to do with it but you don’t either so it just kind of ends up getting roll-yanked off and it’s messy but thank god there’s a trash can right there that was so gross. “So,” Dirk says.

The word just hangs there. “Yeah,” comes out of your mouth to join it. Dirk rubs the back of his neck and tries very hard not to look at you. It’s weird to see his shy little cock all soft now. “How was it for you?” you singsong. If you can’t tease about this, what _can_ you tease about?

“Uh.” Dirk starts rummaging around for his boxers. When he finds your bra first, he throws it away. Like he’d been burned. Offensive. You’re offended. “I don’t know. It was okay.”

“Okay?” You have a no-longer-mint-condition-in box and he’s saying it was just okay? You’ve seen enough romcoms in your time to know that’s not a thing you say after sex. Unless—unless. Unless it was really, really bad. “It was just okay?”

“Come on, Roxy,” he pleads with you. “How was it for you?”

Time for you to hedge a little. “It was… fine... I guess?”

“Fine? Just fine?”

“Put it in front of wine or dining and you actually have something!” You’re scrambling. So what? It was bad. It was really bad.

Dirk just stares at you. You wilt a little. “Some positive feedback, maybe? Constructive criticism before I bring this out of alpha testing?”

“You want me to debug with you?” You try to prop yourself up on your elbows, but your pelvis is having none of it. Your stomach hurts. Why is this. This started as such a good idea. “Okay, here’s a known bug: I think you might actually be really, really gay.”

“God, Roxy, I’m so sorry,” and is that actual remorse? “I tried, okay, it’s you and you’re my best fucking friend and I don’t know. I thought it would be different?” He angrily shoves his legs through the holes in his boxers, nearly puts them on backwards.

“It’s okay.” You actually mean it. “I can give you a gold star if it’ll make you feel better?”

“Only if you tell me you enjoyed it, because I… didn’t,” he admits. You look up from fastening your bra. He’s looking at you without his shades to block his eyes. Serious, then. All you can do is shake your head slowly. “You didn’t come?” You bite your lip to keep from actually having to say the answer. “Oh my god. I’m incompetent.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it!” you try to reassure him. “It’s not that easy. Guys, you just.” You pantomime jacking off. “Girls, it’s. I know I left it in here somewhere,” this time mocking a fingering motion.

Dirk gives you a little privacy so you can get your panties back on. They’re soaked, but only with sweat, and you don’t exactly have a change of clothes with you. Kind of gross, really, but better than nothing. “Not at _all_?”

“Nope,” you confirm, but lacing it with your most apologetic tone. “I… I tried, but things were kind of sweaty, and…”

“Too close and personal?”

You squint at him. “How did you know?”

Speaking of too close and personal, Dirk makes a bed dive, flopping down right next to you. He’s loose-limbed from the heat, from the sex; his hair is mussed, his shades a little askew. His arm is slung over your stomach, but you don’t mind that much, at least. “I… I get it, kinda.” Right. The other last person on earth. “Like the first time we met up with everybody. Kinda hard to believe other humans really existed. And then these other humans. They want to hug you and kiss you and touch you and you’ve never been touched by another human in your life, you don’t know what a hug even _feels_ like, and even breathing the same air as someone else feels like some sort of violation.” Totally gets it. “Is it everything, or just—“

“Just that,” you clarify. “This—this is fine.” He’s hot as hell, but the contact itself is okay. You let yourself fall back, too, spread-eagle on the bed so you can get at least a little breeze from the box fan. Dirk’s hair is up against your armpit. Surprisingly, there’s not too much gel in it when you run your fingers through. “You… you’re okay, though. Now.”

He makes a noise like a shrug. Too lazy to move. Just like you. “Might just be wired different,” he suggests. “Or hey. Maybe you’ll grow out of it.”

“I don’t know.” You’ve been wondering that for a while. Practical strangers have suggested it to you, even. Oh, you won’t know until you try. Well, you tried, all right. Gold star for effort. And the next person to suggest that is going to be soundly punted in the genital. “When you close your eyes—when you’re. You know. You think about other people, right?”

“Hands,” he admits. “Skin. Mouths, sometimes.”

“I don’t. I never have.” You sigh. It’s so muggy in here you can barely string two thoughts together. Then, in a smaller voice you hope he doesn’t hear, “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Roxy Marshall Lalonde.” Uh-oh, the full name. And the full glare when he actually moves so he can catch your eyes with his. “There is nothing wrong with you. At all. I promise. This isn’t an issue of some switch never got flipped on, it’s just some people’s factory defaults. And that’s okay, and you don’t have to force yourself to override it.”

“Okay, whoa, I get it.” You lean down, kiss his forehead.

He puts his head back down where it was. “Hey. These things are kinda nice.” His ear is, conveniently, right on one of your chest pillows. He… only likes them as pillows. Of course. He’s such a doofus sometimes. Still, you’re sleepy. Hot. You know you’re going to wake up in the middle of the night, once it gets below 90, and need to finish some programming, but you’re not about to move right now. You pet at Dirk’s hair, and in the haze of the Houston sunset, you genuinely wonder if he could ever love you in the face of everything.


End file.
